Tim Wildmon
AFA president
November-December 1995 – There is no other time of year when we think more about our families than the Thanksgiving/Christmas season. We purchase gifts, we cook food, we travel long distances, we mail cards and letters, etc., etc. All for our families. We even hug the necks of the ones that get on our nerves this time of year. (Not that any of my family members get on my nerves, you know.) Yes, Thanksgiving and Christmas are about the goodness and blessings of our Lord first and foremost, but then they’re about families gathering together to celebrate that goodness.
Remember that old song, “Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go...” Well, for 32 years that’s exactly what I did on those two holidays. My mom was raised by Bill and Eloise Bennett way out in the country in the northeast corner of Mississippi. Hill country. Cotton and soybean country. And that’s where my grandparents lived until earlier this year when my ailing grandaddy had to be moved into a nursing home here in Tupelo. He passed away a couple of months later. My grandmother – who moved with him – lives in a seniors home here. And for the first time in 32 years I won’t be getting in a car – either as passenger in one of my parents’ many station wagons or as a driver with my own kids – and going to the old house in the country for the holidays. I miss it already.
Ironically my dad’s dad (PaPa, that’s “Paw Paw” in the south), 91, also passed away over the summer. So it’s been a year of great loss in our family. But I thank the Lord I was able to know my two grandfathers for 32 years. I have treasured memories that I will take with me the rest of my life and pass down to my three children. As I’ve written here before, I am a very nostalgic person. I enjoy talking about memories with my family and friends. Thank God for memories. This year I especially remember Christmas past. If you would permit me a little self-indulgence here, I would like to pay tribute to my two grandads in this column.
We still have the eight millimeter black and white films – no sound, of course – of my grandaddy walking the Shetland pony around the front yard of that old country home with his first grandson Timmy on the back of the pony. Christmas 1966. He bought that pony, my mom told me recently, just for the seven or eight times a year his grandchildren would come to the farm. I don’t know whatever happened to that pony. I think he sold it when we got too big to ride.
Grandaddy Bennett was a farmer for most of his life. The first and last time I ever fed farm animals was on his farm when I would spend a few days there in the summer. That was also the first and last time I was awakened by a rooster. My Grandaddy Bennett was a very hard worker and often worked two jobs, the farm and the factory, to support his family of six. One of my fondest memories was when all the grandchildren would get in line so that Grandaddy could “count our ribs.” He enjoyed seeing us all laugh and have a good time.
Grandaddy Bennett was a faithful member of Red Bud Baptist Church for as long as I can remember. The little country church seats about 50 and is where Grandmother and Grandaddy celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary just a few years back. I videotaped it.
Needless to say I have a lot of fond memories of my Grandfather Bennett. He was in many ways a Christian example for me and his entire family. I loved him very much and he will be missed greatly this holiday season.
My PaPa Wildmon raised his family about 40 miles away in Tippah County during the great depression and World War II. There’s a line in the country song “Song of the South” which says, “Somebody told us Wall Street fell, we were so poor we couldn’t tell….” That was my PaPa Wildmon’s world, my dad tells me. But not unlike almost everyone else in the rural south during those years.
PaPa told me all about those times. I’ve got all those memories packed away. From the first time an automobile came down the dirt road till the first and only time (as far as I know) PaPa fl ew in an airplane. For years my dad led tours to the Holy Land and he would, from time to time, ask Pa to go with him. “No, thank you,” he would say. “Tippah County’s holy land to me.” He didn’t care for travel and always wanted to go home – wherever he was – long before my MaMa was ready to go. “Would you just sit down and wait a little?” she would say. They were married 67 years. I remember their 50th anniversary celebration at the First United Methodist Church in Ripley. MaMa Wildmon passed away three years ago and Papa never was the same. I’m sure they’re happy now.
Well I could go on and on. PaPa Wildmon raised a pretty good son, wouldn’t you say? In fact, he raised three boys and two girls, but of course I’m partial to one.
Precious memories about two fine Christian men who influenced my life forever. Have a wonderful holiday season and be sure to pack those memories away with that shirt Aunt Sue gives you.
“Honey, do you think Aunt Sue would ever know if I took this back and exchanged it for….” 
